Chapter 8
The new cup, as Claire soon realized, was part of a matching set with Allen’s.
“Claire, I’m really sorry. I accidentally broke your cup earlier. If you don’t mind, you can use mine for now.” Evelyn’s voice was soft, her expression apologetic as she picked up the unfamiliar cup.
Claire’s face remained cold and unreadable, her lips sealed in silence.
Allen, on the other hand, dismissed the moment with a casual wave. “Evelyn, don’t worry about it. It’s just a cup. We’ve got plenty more at home.”
Claire’s hands clenched into fists, her breath catching as she fought back the sting in her
Chapter 8
eyes.
That cup wasn’t just an
cup. It was the one they had used for their engagement toast, a symbol of their commitment. To Claire, it had been a treasured keepsake, something irreplaceable.
But to Allen, it was nothing more than a trivial object–unworthy of any emotional attachment.
“It’s fine. I’ll use a disposable one” Claire said flatly, masking the hurt with a forced lightness. She took a sip of water, then retreated back to her bedroom.
As she settled on the bed, her gaze drifted to the Médecins Sans Frontières application form on her nightstand. The urgency within her grew sharper.
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If Allen refused to sign, the hospital would prevent her from leaving. She needed to figure out his stance on the matter–sooner rather than later.
“Why are you still awake?” Allen’s voice cut through the silence as he stepped into the room. He saw her sitting by the bedside, seemingly lost in a phone call.
“Alright, I’ll ask him about it for you,” Claire said into the phone before hanging up.
She turned to face him, her tone casual. “You’re not asleep either. My foot hurts too much to rest, so I figured I’d chat with a colleague.”
At the mention of her foot, Allen’s expression softened for a moment, before he
remembered his earlier promise to massage her ankle–and how he had forgotten it.
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Feigning concern, he pulled back the blanket and carefully inspected her injury.
“The swelling’s gone down a lot. You should be fine after a few more days of rest,” he said, his tone almost detached.
Then, as if to shift the focus away from her pain, he asked, “Who were you chatting with just now? You looked pretty engaged in the conversation.”
Claire instinctively tightened her grip on her phone. If Allen had paid closer attention, he would have noticed the screen was black-
she hadn’t been on a call at all.
“It was Dr. White from my department,” she lied smoothly, her voice steady.
Nonchalantly, she opened up the Médecins
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Sans Frontières application on her phone. “A lot of colleagues have been discussing the program lately. Dr. White was just asking if you had any updates on it.”
Allen nodded, completely unfazed.
The topic had indeed been circulating around the hospital for some time now, especially with the application deadline looming. The initial number of volunteers hadn’t met the required amount, which had delayed the program.
“This overseas opportunity isn’t short–term,” he explained, his tone steady. “But it’s an invaluable chance for those without connections to boost their résumés. Coming back with international experience is like walking in with a golden touch.”
Claire nodded, absorbing his words, her
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attention fully on him.
But then, without warning, his tone shifted.
“But it’s unnecessary for you. With the time this program would take, I could easily secure a promotion for you.”
At his words, Claire exhaled softly, her breath tinged with resignation.
She had seen this coming, the refusal, the dismissive undercurrent. But still, another thought flickered across her mind.
In the past, when their arguments reached a breaking point, Allen had occasionally resorted to physical violence. The aftermath was always the same: an apology letter, a placating gesture to restore the fragile peace between them.
She recalled one particular incident, sharp and vivid in her memory. It had been the night she stopped him from leaving to meet Evelyn.
Unbeknownst to her, Evelyn had only suffered a minor cut while cooking–nothing more than a small wound that needed a bandage. But when Allen returned, he was livid. Without hesitation, he slapped Claire across the face.
“If you hadn’t stopped me, Evelyn wouldn’t have gotten hurt!” he had yelled, his words like daggers.
Even now, she could still hear the echo of that angry shout in her mind, the sting of his accusation still raw.